Vampire Chronicles – The Interview
by Rogue11
Summary: Milliardo Peacecraft, a reporter for a small, family owned newspaper, is sent to a tiny town in the middle of nowhere to take interviews for a Halloween special. In the end his interview turns out quite different then expected.
1. Settings

**Disclaimer: **This story was written by a fan only for the enjoyment of other fans, without any monetary compensation. Gundam Wing and its characters are registered trademarks of Bandai Entertainment Inc.™ and Sotsu Agency. All rights reserved.

**Title: **Vampire Chronicles – The Interview

**Author: **Rogue 11

**Rating: **R for sexual content in the last chapter

**Warnings: **yaoi, lemon, lime, blood and slight violence

**Pairings:** 13x6,

**Notation: **_Italics_ – indicates thoughts

**Bold** – indicates emphasis

**About the Story: **AU, Milliardo Peacecraft, a reporter for a small, family owned newspaper, is sent to a tiny town in the middle of nowhere to take interviews for a Halloween special. In the end his interview turns out quite different then expected.


	2. Chapter 1

**Happy Halloween **

The idea for this story came to me about a year ago while listening to 'Hotel California' by the Eagles. I was too busy to work on it then so I decided to keep it on the backburner and write it this year for Halloween.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Vampire Chronicles – The Interview

Chapter 1

Milliardo squinted as he looked into the distance. Ahead of him, as far as the eye could see, the highway was empty. He hadn't seen another vehicle for hours. Around him was nothing but deserted landscape for miles and miles. _What the hell did I get myself into?_

He reached for the cell phone that was lying on the seat next to him. One hand on the steering wheel, he pushed the number of the Dailey Gazette and the extension for the editor's office. The phone rung twice then there was a sharp click before a woman's voice announced. "Daily Gazette main office, how may I help you?"

"It's me."

"Milliardo! Where are you?"

"Where am I?" he snorted. "Somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Tell me Noin, are you sure those driving directions you gave me are correct?"

"Positive," she told him. "Stay on the I15 and keep driving, and you will eventually reach Victoriaville. It's such a pretty little town and the people there are so laid back; nothing like the big city with all it's hustle and bustle. I wish I could spend my next vacation there…."

"Then why didn't **you** take this assignment?" Milliardo wanted to know.

Lucrezia Noin had been a reporter, just like him, before she took the job as editor for the small, family owned newspaper. Occasionally, when they were short on personnel, she still went out into the field. Milliardo knew his friend and colleague very much preferred being a reporter over her desk job.

"I would have," Noin admitted. "But the boss specifically requested you for the job. Besides…look on the bright side."

"There is a bright side to this?"

"Yeah, this will give you a chance to score a few brownie points with the boss and might make him forget about the towing incident."

Milliardo huffed. Just being reminded of that so-called incident was enough to make him see red all over again. "The guy is lucky that I only had his car towed. Anyone who doesn't know how to park shouldn't be driving in the first place. I don't care if he is the boss's nephew or the emperor of China; nobody scratches my baby and gets away with it."

On the other end of the line Noin chuckled. She was well aware that Milliardo could be a little bit overprotective when it came to his sports car; to the point of obsession some people might say.

"So," he asked. "What's this story about anyway?"

"You mean you haven't yet looked into the envelope I gave you?"

The 'envelope' she referred to contained background information about the assignment as well as names and phone numbers of people he was supposed to contact for his interview.

"No, I figured I'd read it tonight in my hotel room. They **do** have hotel rooms here, don't they?"

"Milliardo!" she admonished. "The place might be a little remote, but it's not the end of the world."

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of amusement and sarcasm. "I could have sworn I passed a sigh saying 'Civilization ends here!' about 20 miles ago."

Noin huffed. He could almost see her roll her eyes at him.

"Now tell me, what am I out here for?"

"Well, over the past… decades there have been a number of deaths near Victoriaville, mostly at or around Halloween."

"Hmm…Some crazy serial killer?"

"Who knows; but most of the death appeared to be accidents. However rumor has it that all of the victims had been completely drained of their blood when they were found."

Now it was Milliardo's turn to roll his eyes. "Oh, come on. You don't believe this kind of crap, do you? Urban legends are usually made up by people with too much time on their hands. And a town in the middle of nowhere, where they turn off the lights and take in the sidewalks at sundown is just the right place for something like that."

"Urban legend or not," Noin told him. "It will make a great story for our Halloween Special evening edition. I'll need you to send me the article by noon on the 31st."

"Alright." Today was the 29th. A day and a half was more than enough to spend on this nonsense, as far as Milliardo was concerned. "Then I'll talk to you on Thursday."

"Take care."

"You too." He turned off the phone and threw it back onto the seat next to him. A weathered, lonely sign on the road told him that it was still 65 miles to Victoriaville. Milliardo stifled a yawn. _Noin, you owe me big time._

* * *

Milliardo drove for about another thirty minutes; the sun was starting to set, when he finally saw another car in front of him. But once he got closer he realized that the red Honda convertible was sitting at the side of the road with its hood open.

He slowed down even before the passenger, one of two young women, got out of the vehicle and waved at him.

"What's the problem?" he asked as he brought his own car to a stop next to her.

"Actually, we are not even sure. The engine suddenly stalled. And we just filled the tank a little earlier, so we can't be out of gas."

"Well, let me take a look." Milliardo pulled up and parked in front of the Honda. He walked to the front of the car and looked under the hood. He checked the usual suspects like oil, sparkplugs and loose cables etc. but from what he could tell without actually taking the engine apart, everything looked like it was in working condition.

"I just had the car in the shop last week." The other young woman, black-haired and in her late teens or early twenties, said. "You think they messed something up during the check up?"

"Hard to tell." Milliardo closed the hood and wiped his hands on a piece of cloth he was handed. "But I'm afraid you will need a tow truck."

"We tried calling one right after we got stuck here, but somehow the phones aren't working. We were beginning to worry that we might have to spend the night out here when you came by."

"Hmm… Let me see if I can get through." The young man walked over to his car to get the phone, but as much as he tried he couldn't even get a dial tone. "Odd! Something seems to be blocking the signal; even so we are in a pretty open area."

"What are we going to do?" the blond girl seemed a little worried.

"Relax. I'm not just going to leave you here by yourselves." Milliardo told her. "I'm sure they have a repair shop in town that can tow your car in. I'll give you a lift to the nearest hotel where you can spend the night."

"Thanks, that's really nice of you." The black haired girl gave him a little smile.

"Think nothing of it." He made a dismissive gesture. "I'm afraid though, it won't be a luxury ride. One of you will have to take the back seat." Even though his Ferrari 610 had four seats, it was not exactly a family car.

"That's alright," she assured him. "By the way I'm Hilde and my friend's name is Sylvia."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Milliardo. You got anything you need to take?"

"Yeah two small bags; is there enough room?"

"Should be. Let's put them into the trunk."

As Hilde went to fetch their luggage Milliardo started to move his audio and video gear from the back seat to the trunk as well.

"You need any help with that?" Sylvia asked.

"Well… take this one," he handed her one of the small bags. "But careful, this is very sensitive equipment. My boss is going to kill me if I break it."

A few minutes later the trunk was loaded and Sylvia Noventa climbed into the back of the sports car, while her black-haired friend took the seat next to Milliardo. The girls had agreed that they would switch seats later on.

* * *

"So, you are traveling on business?" Sylvia asked about twenty minutes in do the drive. By now the sun had completely set and darkness had settled over the country side.

Milliardo gave her a surprised look so she added: "You mentioned that your boss was going to kill you if you would break whatever is in those bags."

"Oh, right. Yes, I have to interview a few people in Victoriaville."

"You are a journalist? Oh, that's so cool. I don't think I meant a real reporter before. Well, unless you count the guys from the school paper."

"It's about the vampires, isn't it?" Hilde remarked. "The interviews I mean."

The young man gave her another look of surprise. "You know about those stories?"

"Of course," she laughed. "Everybody around here knows. In fact we came here to meet up with some classmates and spend Halloween in town. One of the guys grew up here. He promised to show us the places where they found some of the dead bodies."

"Creepy, isn't it?" her friend in the backseat added in a strange mixture of excitement and anxiety.

"I suppose."

"Oh come on, that didn't sound very convincing." Hilde nudged Milliardo with her elbow. "I for one don't think it's creepy at all, but rather fascinating. Haven't you ever wondered what it must feel like to be immortal… invincible… like a real life vampire?"

"Real life vampire?" the young man echoed. "Isn't that a contradiction in itself?"

"You don't believe in them, do you?" The black haired girl sounded almost disappointed.

"Not really," Milliardo admitted. "Let's just say I only believe in proven things; things that can be explained and seen, if you know what I mean. In other words, unless I should come across one of them some day there isn't much that could change my mind."

"You know what they say, don't you?" Sylvia warned. "Be careful what you wish for."

The young man laughed. But before he could reply his car started to slow down. The engine began to stutter and hack like an asthmatic marathon runner.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure." Milliardo barely manage of to pull over to the shoulder of the road before the sports car completely stalled. He turned the key in the ignition, cussing silently when the engine didn't restart.

"Come on, this isn't funny." There was more than just a little hint of panic in Hilde's voice.

"I'm not trying to be." the young man told her. "Take the driver's seat. I'm going to check the engine. When I tell you to do so, try to start the car."

"Alright."

As Milliardo climbed out of the Ferrari and popped the hood open, the black haired girl slipped behind the wheel. For the next 15-minutes or so he went through the name routine he did earlier on the girl's car. In the end the result was the same. He couldn't find anything wrong with the vehicle. Frustration was clearly written across the young man's face as he finally slammed the hood close.

"What are we going to do now?" Sylvia asked quietly.

"Now," he replied, trying to sound as confident as possible under the circumstances. "We will try to call a tow truck. Maybe the reception is better around here. Why don't you two do that, while I... well, I'll be right back?"

"Wait," she stopped him. "Where are you going?"

Milliardo pointed toward the brush by the roadside and with a somewhat sheepish smile answered: "I have to... go for little boys. Don't worry, I won't be far."

In the glow of the car's interior light he could see the blond girl blush slightly and quickly turn to reach for cell phone. "Okay. I'll make the call."

* * *

"Any luck?" Milliardo asked as he slipped back into the car and closed the door behind himself.

Both girls shook their heads in unison. "Nothing; not even a dial tone. We tried both of our phones." Hilde told him.

"Alright, so much for **that** idea. However, while I was out there I saw some lights in the distance; probably a house or something. I'll go and see if we can find help there. At least they should have a working phone from where I can call a tow truck..."

"Wait a second." Sylvia interrupted him. "What do you mean 'you will go'? You don't expect us to stay here by ourselves, do you?"

"Okay," Milliard sighed. "We will go all together. But don't start complaining if we have to walk a couple of miles."

"That's still better than staying here alone."

"Very well then. If you got something warm to wear in your luggage you'd better put it on, it's really gotten cold."

As the girls went to grab some jackets from their bags in the trunk, Milliardo pulled the emergency kit out from beneath the passenger seat and removed a flashlight from the case. They'd probably need it trying to find their way through the woods.

"Ready to go?" he asked as he locked the car doors and switched on the light.

"Ready," Hilde confirmed while her friend just silently nodded.

"Okay then, let's stay together and try to watch where you step. The last thing we need is for one of us to break a leg."

* * *

They walked through the woods for a good thirty to forty minutes. Ahead in the distance the shimmering lights were slowly getting closer, and it was obvious now that they were coming from a house, a rather large house it seemed.

The night sky was covered in dark clouds that only occasionally ripped open to reveal a patch of shining stars or the large, nearly full moon. But most of the time the forest was draped in deep darkness. Milliardo was glad that he had bought the flashlight to illuminate the ground in front of their feet.

"What are you doing on my property?"

Milliardo nearly jumped at the sound of the voice and one of the girls, he wasn't sure which, grabbed his left arm for support. His head snapped around and his eyes went wide. In the soft glow of the silvery moon, only a few feet to the right stood a man. He was tall, slender and probably in his late twenties. His tawny hair was short and neatly combed, except for a few stray tendrils that had fallen across his forehead. He made an imposing figure; dressed in an elegant 3-piece, black suit and surrounded by an aura of grace and dignity.

"What are you doing on my property?" the man repeated; his voice deep and smooth as velvet.

Milliardo swallowed. "I'm sorry, we didn't mean to trespass. Our car broke down on the interstate," he explained. "We saw some lights in the distance and hoped we would find some help."

"I see," The stranger studied him for a few moments then smiled politely. "My apologies if I startled you. My groundskeeper saw your light and I thought it would be best to go and check out what was going on. We don't get many visitors out here, you see. You are lucky that I found you. The forest can be a very dangerous place at this time of the night."

There was something about the way he said it that made the hair stand up in the back of Milliardo's neck, and the grip around his arm tightened slightly. "Perhaps we could use your phone to call a repair shop and a taxi?" he asked.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. Someone cut the phone line, just the other day. Local teenagers I'm sure..." He shrugged and spread his hands in a gesture of helpless resignation. "They use this time of year as an excuse to sneak around at night and play tricks on the neighbors; not that kids ever need an excuse to be mischievous. However," he continued. "You are more than welcome to spend the night at my house. Tomorrow morning I can have my chauffeur take a look at your car."

"Are you sure?" Milliardo asked, somewhat hesitant. "We really don't want to inconvenient you."

"No inconvenience at all," the man assured them. "Consider yourselves my guests."

Milliardo exchanged a quick look with his female 'travel companions'. It wasn't like they had many options, not unless they wanted to sleep in his car. No, that idea didn't seem too appealing. "Thank you, that's very kind of you."

The tawny-haired man gave a curt nod before looking up into the sky. "We should probably hurry; I have a feeling it might start to rain soon. I shall lead the way."

It was obvious that the man was familiar with the area, so well in fact that he didn't even need a light to find his way around. At times his guests had trouble keeping up with him. After about fifteen minutes the forest thinned and they found themselves in a large garden in front of a huge mansion.  
Victorian style… Colonial… Milliardo couldn't tell. It was old, very old, that much he knew.

"This way, please." Just as their host ushered them up a flight of wide marble stairs it started to rain. Large raindrops painted dark splatters onto the white pavement, as they hurried to make it inside.

* * *

"Wow," Sylvia exclaimed in a mixture of wonder and amazement as they stepped through the front door and into a large, lobby-like hall with a wide sweeping staircase that led to the second floor. "What a beautiful house."

"Well thank you," the tawny-haired man replied politely. "I like to think so myself."

Indeed, it was beautiful; richly decorated with marble and expensive woods, and furnished in a way that looked like it came directly out of some old 19th century movie.

"It must have cost a fortune to buy a place like this."

Their host smiled softly. "I really would not know. The estate has been in my family for generations. My great-great-great-grandfather had the house built. And since I have no intention to ever sell it I never had it appraised."

"Really? That's impressive. Most people these days don't live at one place for a decade, much less for several generations. But I can see why." Hilde said. "I wouldn't want to move from here into a modern concrete box either."

"Most definably not," he confirmed. "This place has everything I need. But I don't think I have introduced myself yet. How rude of me. It's my name is Khushrenada, Treize Khushrenada."

"You are on vacation?" the tawny-haired man asked after they shook hands and his guests had introduced themselves as well.

"We are." Sylvia confined. "He isn't." She gestured at Milliardo. "We are not traveling together; at least it didn't start out that way. Our car too broke down several miles from here. Luckily Milliardo came by and offered us a ride. Otherwise we would still be sitting on the side of the road."

"Ah, the knight in shining armor. "Treize gave the younger man a tiny smirk. "I didn't know they still exist these days."

Milliardo frowned slightly. Did he detect a hint of sarcasm in the other man's voice?

"In any case, you must be exhausted... Trowa?!"

"Yes sir!"

Milliardo's head snapped around. A handsome young man with olive skin and brown hair stood at the top of the stairs. He was clad in a pair of black slacks and a partially unbuttoned, black shirt that accentuated his perfect physic. Part of his face and one eye were hidden beneath long, bangs.

"We are having guests. They will be spending the night." their host explained. "Please prepare some rooms for them."

The brunet young man nodded in acknowledgement. "Yes, Sir. Anything else?"

Treize turned toward his guests. "Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat?"

The girls as well as Milliardo assured him that they had eaten earlier and were fine.

"In that case, have Quatre bring us a carafe of red wine; we will be in the sitting room."

"Understood."

"This way please." Treize once again led the way, leading them into a large, exquisitely furnished room. A fire was burning in the fireplace, creating a warm and welcoming atmosphere. He gestured for his guests to have a seat "Please, make yourselves comfortable, your rooms should be ready soon."

In front of the fireplace stood two deep-red velvet loveseats, facing each other, with a low couch table between them. The two young women chose the couch on the left, while Milliardo and their host settled down in the other. Treize shifted to face the younger man, draped one leg over the other and interlaced his fingers in front of his stomach.

"So," he asked. "Since you are not here on vacation, what exactly did bring you to a remote place like Victoriaville... if you don't mind me asking?"

"Not at all. I'm on an assignment from my newspaper."

"Ah, I see; a reporter. How interesting."

"Yes, but only for a very small, family owned newspaper. They want me to write a story for the Halloween edition."

"About the vampires." Hilde explained with a little grin.

"Vampires?!" the tawny-haired man echoed, and Milliardo could have sworn he detected a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Well yeah," he shrugged. "Urban legends… unexplained phenomenon…ghost stories...people love to read about that kind of stuff, especially around Halloween"

Treize nodded, but before he could say anything there was a knock and then the beveled glass doors opened and another young man stepped into the room. His golden-blond hair was tousled, and he was carrying a tray with four glasses and a carafe with a dark-red liquid.

"Your wine, sir." he declared as he walked to the table and set down the tray. "Would you like me to pour it?"

"Yes, please," the tawny-haired man answered with a nod.

The young man filled all four of the finely cut crystal glasses and offered the first two to the ladies. Hilde accepted the wine, with a polite nod, but her friend shook her head "Thanks, but no. I really don't drink."

After serving Milliardo and Treize as well the blond young man retreated and closed the doors behind himself without another word.

"Come to think of it... Since you family has been living here for a long time, I'm sure you have heard many stories about those mysterious deaths, haven't you?" Hilde looked at their host with eager anticipation.

The tawny haired man took a sip from his wine before giving her a polite smile. "I'm afraid my family never cared much for gossiping. One of the reasons why my ancestors built the estate here and not closer to town is that we prefer to have our privacy. In other words, we don't stick our noses in other people's business, and we expect the same courtesy in return."

"That's too bad." Milliardo replied. "I suppose that means it's no use asking you for an interview then."

"I'm afraid not." Treize gave a little shrug of regret. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help, but from what little I know those 'mysterious deaths' visitors like to talk about, have been nothing but tragic accidents."

"It's not only visitors that call them 'mysterious'." Hilde insisted.

"Of course not." Their host laughed and took another sip from his glass. "Half of the people in town make their living from tourism these days. Admitting that there is nothing 'mysterious' going on here would be like killing your own business, wouldn't it."

_It makes sense_, Milliardo admitted. Of course he fully agreed with the older man. There were enough people out there who believed in crazy things like ghosts, vampires and UFOs. And as long as such people excited, there would be others taking advantage of it. _Like journalists who make money by spreading those stories_, he thought with a touch of sarcasm.

Hilde on the other hand didn't look like she was convinced by Treize's words. But she didn't seem inclined to argue with the man. As she set her half-empty wine glass down on the table she tried to stifle a yawn. "I'm sorry. I'm so tired all of a sudden. Not to be rude, but do you think our room is ready?"

"Oh, I'm sure it is. Let me call someone to show you upstairs. If you would excuse me…" He rose, walked to the door and left only to return a few moments later with the blond young man who had served them the wine earlier.

"This is Quatre," the tawny haired man introduced. "He is one of my…caretakers. He will take you to your rooms, ladies. If there is anything you need let him know and he will take care of it, won't you Quatre?"

"Of course, Sir."

"Thank you. We really appreciate your hospitality," Sylvia said as she and her friend got to their feet. "Good night."

"Good night."

The two young woman followed Quatre, and Milliardo was about to rise as well. "I should probably go to bed too. It's been a long day."

"Oh really?" The older man sounded disappointed. "I was hoping we could sit a little longer and chat. As I mentioned earlier, we don't see many guest here, especially not such interesting ones. Besides…" He gestured at the glass in Milliardo's hand. "You haven't even touched your wine yet."

"I'm sorry; I guess I'm not much of a wine drinker."

"Perhaps you just haven't tasted the right wine yet. This is a great vintage, very smooth and very fruity. I had it imported from Spain."

Milliardo took a cautious sip from his glass and nodded approvingly. "It really **is** good. A little strong though."

"Is it, really?"

"Yes, but probably just because I'm not used to it." The young man took another, bigger, sip. He wasn't lying when he said that he wasn't much of a wine drinker. He preferred a good beer and occasionally a glass of whisky on the rocks.

"How long are you planning on staying in town?" his host wanted to know.

"Just a few days. I hope to have everything wrapped up by Thursday and leave Friday morning... if I can get my car repaired by then that is."

"Oh yes, your car." Treize nodded thoughtfully then looked up and suddenly asked. "Do you believe in coincidence?"

"Coincidence?!"

"Well, I mean... two broken down cars, three travelers who might have never met otherwise, a house just in walking distance... doesn't that sound like a series of strange coincidence?",

"I suppose it does." Milliardo admitted, as he continued to sip the sweet wine.

"Or perhaps you believe in fate?!"

"Excuse me?" The young man could feel heat creeping into his cheeks. He tried to tell himself that it was from the alcohol not the suggestiveness in Treize's voice. He noticed only now that the older man had slowly moved closer and now was sitting almost directly next to him.

"Do you believe it was fate that brought you here tonight?" The deep, soft voice almost turned into a purr.

Suddenly his vision became blurred and fuzzy. Milliardo shook his head to clear his mind. As he tried to rise to feet he was suddenly overcome by a wave of fatigue. The nearly empty wine glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the ground.

Treize was on his feet and by his side in one quick, fluid motion. "Oh my, the wine really was a little strong it seems."

"I'm sorry," the younger man slurred.

"Don't worry about it. Let me take you to your room."

Milliardo somehow managed to nod. He could feel a strong arm around his waist steadying him, just before his mind dipped into oblivion.

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's Note:


	3. Chapter 2

**Happy Halloween!**

**Thank you to those who reviewed this story. **

Vampire Chronicles – The Interview

Chapter 2

Milliardo woke slowly, very slowly. It took several moments for him to realize that the knocking sounds he was hearing wasn't part of some vivid dream he was having, but actually someone rapping at his car window.

That someone was a young man about his age, with wavy, brown hair, dressed in a sheriff's uniform. Milliardo didn't remember ever meeting him before, but then again, at the moment he didn't even remember what he was doing asleep in his car at the side of the road.

The uniformed man slipped the baton, that he had been using to tap at the window, back into his belt and waited for Milliardo to open his car door. "Is everything alright, Sir?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm fine, sheriff." The blond journalist nodded.

"Its deputy," the other man corrected. "Deputy Otto. May I take a look at your papers?"

"Sure." Milliardo gave another nod as he pulled out his driver's license and registration. The deputy walked over to his patrol car that was parked just behind the Ferrari, returned a few moments later and handed the papers back to Milliardo.

"May I ask what you are doing here, Sir?"

"Um... sleeping." The deputy didn't say anything but Milliardo could tell from the way his jaws tightened momentarily that he wasn't in the mood for smart remarks.

"Sorry, I wasn't trying to be funny. I have been driving most of the day yesterday and got tired. I figured pulling over and catching some shut eye was better than falling asleep while driving."

"I appreciate that." the other man replied dryly. "I might have been the one to clean up the mess otherwise."

Milliardo gave a little snort. Somehow he couldn't help but like the guy. He rubbed his sore neck and shoulders as he shifted in his seat.

"Pretty car, but not the most comfortable one it looks like."

"Yeah, I suppose it wasn't designed to go camping in. Mind if I get out and stretch a little?"

"Go right ahead."

As the blond journalist climbed out of the Ferrari and began to move his arms and legs in an effort to restore proper blood flow, the deputy walked back to his patrol car. For a moment Milliardo thought that the man was finished with him and was going to leave. But instead Otto reached into the passenger side and pulled out a large thermos. He unscrewed the black plastic top that also doubled as a cup, and filled it with some steaming, dark liquid from the bottle, as he walked back to where Milliardo was still stretching.

"Coffee," he explained as he handed the drink to the other man. "It might be a little bitter, but it's strong enough to raise the death."

"Thanks, that just what I need right now."

"So, you are that journalist from the big city Sheriff Bonaparte told me about. He said you were going to interview him for a big story for some big magazine."

"Big city yes, big story in afraid not." Milliardo laughed. "And most definitely not big magazine."

The deputy shrugged. "The local Daily News has about 500 subscribers. Anything more than that is considered big by our standards."

"Well, if you take it that way. By the way, how much further is it in to town?"

"Another twenty miles, give or take a few. Once you pass the old gas station it's only a stone throw."

"Thanks." Milliardo took another sip of coffee. It truly was bitter, but he needed that right now. His head was pounding and he felt worn out, like after a long night of drinking or a night of hot sex…or both. _Great, I'm having a hangover without the benefits,_ he thought in a tinge of sarcasm.

Suddenly the radio in the patrol car started to beep and the deputy hurried to answer. Milliardo finished his drink and walked over to the police cruiser to return the empty cup. "Is something wrong?" the asked.

"An accident a few miles from here; somebody wrapped his car around a tree." Otto explained as he slipped behind the wheel. "I suppose I'll see you later in town."

The blond journalist nodded. "Thanks for the coffee."

He watched as the deputy backed up, turned, and drove away with flashing lights and screaming sirens. As the patrol car disappeared in the distance he climbed back into his Ferrari and he too drove off.

Victoriaville was just like Milliardo had expected it to be; pretty, little houses, with little, white picket fences, front yards with beautiful flowers and well-cared for lawns, clean, narrow streets and people who walked to church or the groceries store just to meet with and say hello to their neighbors. It was rather old-fashioned... and somewhat cheesy in his opinion. But he could see why people wanted to spend their vacation here. It was a place to relax and take it easy.

* * *

He pulled up in front of a small motel; the first one he came across, and parked his sports ear in one of the specially marked parking spots. The lobby was empty as he walked in, but as soon as he rung the bell on the counter a woman in her mid-forties appeared from the backroom.

"How can I help you, Mister?"

"I need a room, for two nights," he explained. "Double occupancy, king size bed if you have it" The paper was paying for his expenses, and as far as Milliardo was concerned, a comfortable room and a bed large enough for his figure was the least he expected in return for being sent on this assignment.

He put this signature under the registration paper she handed him and received a key in return. "Room 21, second floor, third door to the right when you come up the stairs. You got any luggage, Mister..." She took a quick look at the registration form. "Peacecraft?"

"Outside in my car," he confirmed.

"I can have my son bring it upstairs if you wish."

"Thanks." The young man handed her his car keys. "It's just the larger, blue bag; the rest can stay in the trunk."

She nodded. "Consider it done, Mister Peacecraft, enjoy your stay."

"Thank you."

Milliardo climbed up the stairs and unlocked the door marked with a stylishly painted 21. The room was large, warm and welcoming, with a small and very clean bathroom to the right, and a large bouquet of freshly cut flowers on the table. The blond journalist sneezed. _Darn allergies!_

He was just opening the blinds to let in some of the bright morning sun when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

A young man, the motel owner's son he assumed, walked in with his luggage. "Where would you like me to put it?" he asked.

"Right there is fine." Milliardo pulled on this wallet and handed the teenager a ten dollar bill. He had learned a long time ago that in his profession generous tip were always a good investment. "Is there a place around here were I can get something for breakfast?"

"Mimi's café just across the street; most of our guests eat their. They serve breakfast till 11."

"Thanks." As the journalist turned he suddenly noticed a tag dangling from the handle of his bag. It was one of those clear plastic ones you could slip a piece of paper with your name and address into. "What's that?" he wanted to know.

"Um..." The teenager, who had already turned to leave, stopped. "It fell to the ground when I opened the trunk of your car, so I figured it had fallen off your bag and I put it back on.

"I don't think it's mine." Milliardo reached out to check the tag but the moment his fingertips touched the plastic he was hit by a strange image of a young woman with long, dark blond hair. The journalist almost stumbled as he jerked his hand back

"Are you alright?"

Milliardo nodded more or less mechanically. _What the hell was that just now? _ "Yeah, yeah I'm fine." he assured the young man who was still eying him strangely...

"Okay, then I'll go now."

"Yes, thank you for your help." Milliardo waited for the teen to close the door behind himself, before he crouched down next to his duffle bag. He hesitated slightly before cautiously reaching out again. His fingertips touched the nametag again and... nothing happened. _Alright, Milliardo, it's official. You are loosing it. _With a somewhat sheepish grin he turned the tag in his hand and read the neatly printed writing.

_**Sylvia Noventa **_

_Hmm, who is Sylvia Noventa_? A coworker, a friend of his sisters? Over time he had given rides to many women. It wasn't surprising really; sports cars were known to be chick magnets after all.

He opened the little snap button, removed the tag from his bag, and tossed it onto the nightstand as he rose to his feet. He checked his watch, it was nearly 9am. Maybe he should start by making some appointments for his interviews before he went over to Mimi's café for breakfast.

In the side pocket of his duffle bag was the assignment envelope Noin had given him. He dumped it onto the table, reached for the list of names and phone numbers and pulled out his cell phone. Milliardo settled down on the edge of the bed as he dialed the first number, which coincidently happened to be the sheriff's office. A woman told him that the sheriff was out in the field, so he left his name and phone number and she promised to call back as soon as her boss got back.

Next in line was a Dr. Po who was the county's medical examiner. Once again the journalist only got to talk to some assistant who informed him that the doctor had been called to a fatal accident and would probably be gone for another few hours.

Milliardo stifled a yawn as he turned off his phone. _You can't say that I didn't try. Well, maybe I should get a little more sleep before I get going. _He kicked off his shoes, fluffed up the pillow and stretched out on the bed. Somehow his gaze fell onto the little plastic tag on the nightstand and he picked it up once again.

_Sylvia Noventa._ _Why does the name sound so familiar? I'm sure I've heard it before. But where and when?_

* * *

"_You don't believe in vampires, do you? How ignorant of you. All you have to do is open your eyes; they are right under your nose."_

"_Creepy isn't it?"_

"_No, not creepy; I find it fascinating." The dark-haired girl laughed as she opened her mouth to reveal a pair of razor-sharp fangs._

"_Is not a coincidence, its fate..."_

Milliardo woke with a start. He bolted upright and sat in bed panting. _A nightmare! Where the hell did that come from? _

The young man shivered. His sweat drenched shirt was sticking to his back. _I think I could use a shower!_

He climbed out of bed, grabbed a new shirt and a fresh pair of boxers from his duffle bag and shuffled into the bathroom. A few moments later he was standing under the shower. As the hot water was pounding down on his body Milliardo's mind drifted off

_What the hell is going on? First I don't remember pulling over and falling asleep on the side of the road, then there is the strange address tag; I have no idea where it came from, and finally that crazy dream. I don't recall having had a nightmare since I was a kid. Am I really getting so worked up about this assignment that my mind is starting to play tricks on me? I could have sworn that one of the girls in my dream was the same one I saw when I first touched the tag. But what about the other one..._

He shook his head trying to clear his mind. _Alright, that's it. Enough of this nonsense. Time for breakfast_

He quickly finished his shower and dried himself off. He slipped into his boxers but when he picked up his jeans he suddenly noticed a trail of small, red droplets on one of the legs. _What that; blood...?_ Milliardo frowned. _No, blood would look darker, more rust colored, when it dried._ He dipped his head and wrinkled his nose as he recognized the faint smell. _Red wine, wonderful! And I just bought those jeans._

He made himself a mental note to add the pants to his expenses account as he walked back into the room. _Good thing I packed an extra pair._

* * *

Mimi's Café looked more like a diner than a cafe. But it was all the same to Milliardo. As long as the food was good he didn't care where he was eating. The place was nearly empty. An elderly couple was sitting at a table by the window and a man in a postal carrier's uniform was sipping coffee at the counter.

The blond journalist slipped into the seat beside him and gave the woman behind the counter a friendly nod "Good morning."

"Good morning," she replied. "What can I get you, dear?"

"Can I still have breakfast or is it already too late?"

"Sure you can. Let me get you the menu."

"That's alright. I'll just take the breakfast special," he told her. "And coffee; black no sugar please."

"You got it, dear." She relayed his order to the kitchen and poured him his coffee.

Meanwhile the postman had finished his cup and was ready to leave. He tipped his hat on the way out "Bye Ina."

"Bye Ernie, see you tomorrow."

A few minutes later the breakfast special was ready. And just as Milliardo had expected, the unwritten, national law that required all 'breakfast specials' to consist of pancakes, sausages and scrambled eggs also existed in this town.

He was still finishing up his second pancake when the door behind him opened and a young woman entered the diner. She was wearing an olive green windbreaker that almost looked like it was military issued, and her light-brown hair in two pigtails.

"Ah, Do. Po, good morning." the woman behind the counter greeted her, as she slipped into one of the empty seats next to Milliardo. "Green tea, as usually?"

"No, I think I'll need something stronger this morning."

Ina, the woman behind the counter, shook her head in sympathy as she sighed. "Terrible thing that accident. What a way to start your morning. Ernie told me about it. He drove by on his route when the sheriff was still investigating the scene." She poured another cup of coffee and put it in front f the doctor.

"Yes, terrible."

"Ernie said there were two people in the car. Both got killed?"

The younger woman nodded, and Ina shook her head again "Poor things."

Milliardo waited for the woman behind the counter to disappear into the kitchen before he turned toward the doctor. "Excuse one."

"Yes?"

"You are Dr. Po?"

"Yes?" she repeated.

"The medical examiner?"

"Is that-problem?"

The young man grinned. "No... I just expected..."

"A man?" she asked. Obviously she had gotten that reaction before.

"No, that's… well, actually yes." Milliardo admitted. "And also someone a whole lot older, gray hair, glasses, heading for retirement."

She managed a tiny smile. "Sorry to disappoint you. By the way, who might you be? I don't think I have seen your face around here before."

"Oh, sorry, my name is Peacecraft, Milliardo Peacecraft..."

"Ah, you are the reporter who called my office earlier this morning."

"That's right." he confirmed.

"If this is about the interview, I'm afraid I'm a little bit busy this morning but I can try to fit you in sometime this afternoon."

"That's alright, but actually there is something else I wanted to speak to you about."

"Oh?" she asked.

"Yes, the accident you were talking about just now... Was there... The car involved, was it a red Honda convertible?" He had no idea why bat the car make and color just jumped into his mind for no apparent reason.

"That's right," Do. Po confirmed

"Two females in their late teens, one of them has long hair, dark blond... was her name... Sylvia Noventa?"

The young woman nodded. "Did you know them?"

"I'm not sure. "Milliardo admitted "I think I met them yesterday on the road. Can you tell me a little more about the accident? Do you know already what happened?"

"Well from what we could tell from the scene the driver lost control in a curve, left the road and crashed head on into a tree. We won't be able to tell if it was due to speeding, alcohol or mechanical failure until I have done an autopsy and the sheriff has finished his investigation."

The reporter nodded understandingly. "Thank you, doctor."

* * *

It was a good hour later that Milliardo pulled up in front of the sheriff's office.

He showed the woman at the reception desk his press-pass. "I believe we talked earlier on the phone."

"Right," she confirmed, "The reporter from the city. You are in luck, Sheriff Bonaparte just got in. Let me call him." She pushed one of the buttons on her phone as she picked up the receiver. "Sir, the reporter, Mr. Peacecraft, is here to see you. Do you want me to send him in?"

Milliardo couldn't hear the answer, but he assumed that the sheriff agreed because the woman rose from her chair after she hung up the phone, and asked him to follow her. The sheriff's office was just down the hall. The secretary knocked before she opened the door.

Sheriff Bonaparte, a tall, bearded man, in his 50th, was not alone. He and his deputy were studying a number of photographs that were spread out over his desk.

"Mr. Peacecraft," the secretary announced.

"Yes, thank you. Please come in." He gathered the photos and slipped them into his desk before Milliardo had a chance to look at them.

"I see you made it safely into town," the deputy greeted him.

"I didn't fall asleep again, if that's what you, mean." there blond journalist replied with a tiny smirk.

Bonaparte looked at his deputy, then at the reporter and back at his deputy. "You know each other?"

"We met on the road this morning," Otto explained.

"Ah, I see. Well then, should we start?" the sheriff asked. "Do I look alright like this, or should I change my uniform?"

"You look fine." Milliardo assured him. "But actually. I didn't really come for the interview right now."

"Not?" Bonaparte gave him a surprised look. "Then, why did you come?" He gestured for his guest to take a seat.

"It's about the accident that happened on the interstate this morning," the reporter explained. "The two young women that were killed... I knew them. I met them yesterday evening; we spent the night together..."

"You what?"

"Sorry, not the way you think." Milliardo suddenly realized that the statement didn't quite come out the way he intended. "Maybe I should explain from the beginning," he suggested. "Yesterday evening, shortly after sunset I met the two women. They had car trouble and I offered them a ride into town. But along the way my car stalled as well. We noticed some lights in the distance and ended up walking about a mile and a half till we got to a mansion. The owner was nice enough to invite us in and let us spent the night..."

"This morning you were sleeping in your car. "Otto pointed out.

"I know," Milliardo sighed. "And I have no idea how I got there. I realize this sounds crazy, but..." _I don't really understand it myself._ "I just know that I was together with Sylvia Noventa and her friend, Hilde... something. We spent the night at that house... and something is defiantly wrong."

The sheriff and his deputy exchanged a long look. "Mister Peacecraft, did you drink anything last night." Bonaparte asked.

"I didn't... well actually I had a glass of wine."

"Just one?"

"Yes, just one." The journalist was almost offended by that question. "If you are suggesting that I was drunk, you are wrong. And I'm not loosing my mind either." Milliardo had no idea why, but talking with Dr. Po at the diner had triggered some memories in him. And suddenly, like a large puzzle, pieces started to fall into place; the address tag in the trunk of his car, even the red wine stains on his jeans made sense now. But it was obvious that the sheriff did not see if that way.

"Alright, so you don't believe me. Fine, I don't blame you. But at least send someone out to talk to the owner of that mansion. I believe his name was Khushrenada, Treize Khushrenada."

The two other men exchanged another look. "That would be rather difficult I'm afraid; unless you know someone who can talk to the dead."

"Excuse me?" Milliardo frowned in confusion.

"Treize Khushrenada was indeed the last resident of Deerwood Manor; however he died nearly 50 years ago." the sheriff explained.

"But..."

"It was a hunting accident. Deer season had just started and some out-of-town hunter who was tracking a stack got onto the Khushrenada property and accidentally shot the poor man when he was walking his dog. It was a big story back then; I still remember it. I must have been five or six years old."

"Then who is living on the property now?"

"Nobody," the sheriff shrugged, "Except for a groundskeeper, hired by the Khushrenada family to keep the estate in order."

"Hmm..." After a few moments of thoughtful silence Milliardo looked up. "Then maybe, knowing that the mansion is abandoned, someone broke in and pretended to be a rightful owner, last night."

"Let me get that straight you are suggesting that someone entered the property not to steal anything, but to wait for some poor travelers who might have car trouble, just so he could play the good Samarian? With all due respect, don't you think this sounds just a little too farfetched? In any case, you will have to excuse me now; I have an investigation to continue. However if you drive back into town in sure you will find a lot of people willing to listen to your little 'mystery'."

Milliardo's frown turned into a scowl. "Sheriff, I..."

"Deputy, would you please escort Mr. Peacecraft outside."

* * *

The journalist was still fuming when he steered his car toward Deerwood.

_Fine, if he doesn't want to investigate, I'll do it myself. There are still a few questions I'd like to have answers to; like how I got back to my car and why I had no trouble starting it this morning, even though it wouldn't move an inch last night._

Milliardo had barely passed the city-limits-sign when he noticed flashing lights and sirens behind him. _Oh great, what now? _He pulled over and came to a stop.

Deputy Otto pulled his patrol cruiser up directly next to the Ferrari, but made no efforts to get out. Instead he ordered. "Get into my car."

"What did I do; drive too slow?" Milliardo's voice was laced with sarcasm. "Am I arrested?"

"Don't be silly. I just figured, since we seem to have the same destination, we might as well carpool and do our part in protecting the environment right? You are on your way to Deerwood Manor, are you not?" The deputy reached over the passenger seat to open the door.

The journalist blinked "What about my car? You really think its okay to just leave it here?"

Otto snorted. "This is Victoriaville. People here still leave their houses unlocked when they go to church on Sunday. The biggest crime that happened since I moved here five years ago was two hungry cats raiding a bucket of catfish at the annual fish-fry."

Milliardo smirked as he locked up the Ferrari and slipped into the patrol car. "So, then you were not born here?"

"No." the deputy shook his head. "Drove through town on my way south, saw a sign that they were looking for a deputy, applied for the job and never left."

"What did you do before?" The reporter buckled his seatbelt.

"Homicide detective."

"Wow; that must have paid a lot more.

"Yeah," Otto confirmed, "but it was also a lot more stressful; odd hours, overtime..."

Milliardo nodded understandingly. "Good point. So, your drive to Deerwood wouldn't have anything to do with my visit at the sheriff's office, would it?"

"Actually, I made these plans already earlier. I need to talk to the person who called in the accident."

"The 'groundskeeper'?"

"Bingo," the deputy confirmed. "You have won the first, prize, a roundtrip in a real life police car."

Milliardo grinned. "I'm glad to hear that it is a roundtrip. But seriously, the Khushrenada family isn't exactly poverty stricken, are they? I mean not only can they afford to leave this kind of estate sit empty for half a century; they also pay someone to make it look nice while it is vacant."

"I wouldn't really know much about that. But the historical society should be able to tell you more about the family. One of the people who founded the town was a Khushrenada."

"Is that so?" _He mentioned that his great, great, great grandfather built the Deerwood mansion. Maybe he was the same person who helped to create the town as well. But why would he choose to put his own house at such a remote location?  
**One of the reasons why my ancestors built the estate here and not closer to town is that we prefer to have our privacy...  
**Or could it be that they had something to hide?_

"Hello…?!"

"What?" Otto's voice ripped the reporter from his thoughts.

"I was asking how long you are going to stay in Victoriaville."

"Until Friday. I'm sorry I was..."

"Spaced out? Yeah, so I've noticed."

The deputy pulled into a narrow road and a few minutes later they stopped in front of a large wrought-iron gate. Milliardo got out of the car to open the gate; it was heavy and squeaked in its hinges, as though it hadn't been used in a very long time.

"Is that why you took me along?" he asked as he climbed back into his seat. "So you didn't have to get out and open the doors yourself?"

The other man grinned. "And here I thought blonds weren't supposed to be smart"

The journalist huffed.

"One thing though. When we get there, I'll be doing the questioning. Is that understood?"

"Understood."

The police car followed the road past the main house and about half a mile further, until they came to a halt in front of a small cottage. The groundskeeper's cabin, Milliardo assumed. He waited for Otto to get out and followed him to the front door. They had to knock several times. Inside the house dogs were barking, but the reporter was beginning to think that no one else was home when they finally heard footsteps.

"Who is it?"

"Deputy Otto; we talked on the phone earlier today. I told you that I was going to come by to take your statement."

"Oh, right."

They could hear the clicking of a key in the lock and then the door opened. Milliardo almost took a step back in surprise as he stared at the young man who was holding a large, shaggy dog by the collar. "You?!"

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's Note:


	4. Chapter 3

Vampire Chronicles – The Interview

Chapter 3

"You?!"

"Excuse me?"

"You were here last night. It's Trowa isn't it?"

"Of course I was here last night." The young man confirmed. "I live here after all. However, I think you are mistaking me for someone else. My name is Trinton, Trinton Bloom."

_He is lying through his teeth_. Milliardo was now more than ever convinced that things were not what they seemed at this place. Maybe it was journalistic instinct, maybe it was just plain and simple curiosity, but he fully intended to find out what was going on.

"I have a few questions I need to ask you." deputy Otto meanwhile explained.

The young man nodded. "Should we go inside?"

"That sounds like a good idea."

"Give me a second to put the dogs in the yard." Trowa... Trinton ordered the two hounds to heel and led them away. A few moments later he was back. As his two guests followed him into the house Milliardo let his gaze wander.

The place was small and very simplistic, not to say spartanly, furnished; a far cry from the spacious, elegant and classy main house. Most of the ground floor was one large living area, with a fireplace, a couch and two armchairs, a desk and a small dining table with two chairs. An open door gave view into a small kitchen, and a wooden staircase led upstairs where most likely the bedroom and bath was located.

But what struck the journalist as odd was how tidy everything was. Milliardo didn't exactly consider himself a slob, but even though he had an cleaning lady coming twice a week, there was always a little disorder in his apartment; some clothes hanging over a chair, a dirty dish or two in the sink... But not here; this place was almost too neat and orderly.

"Do you live here alone, Mister Bloom?" he asked.

"Yes, why?"

"Just wondering," Milliardo shrugged. "Don't you get bored or lonely if you are all by yourself all the time?"

"Not really, I keep myself busy. Besides, Thanatos¹ and Nix² provide some companionship if I need it." The young man gestured at the sitting area. "Please have a seat. Can I get you something to drink, tea perhaps."

"Thank you, I'm fine," the deputy declined politely.

"I'm alright, too." Milliardo settled down in one of the armchairs. "Do you suffer from migraines?" he suddenly asked, earning himself a surprised look from their host.

"No, why do you ask?"

The reporter gestured at the heavy curtains blocking the windows. "My mother used to have migraines when I was a kid. I remember how sensitive she was to light when she had an attack."

"Oh no, nothing like that," the young man assured him as he walked over to the window and pulled open the curtains. "I was taking a nap when you came. Keeping the house dark tricks the dogs into thinking it is night and keeps them quiet." He shrugged.

"Well, lets get started, should we?" Otto suggested. "I really don't want to take up more of your time then necessary, Mister Bloom. Can you tell me a little about the accident you reported this morning?"

"Umm... sure." He took a seat across from the deputy and folded his hands in his lap. "I was up early to check if the rain last night had caused any damages... sometimes the roads flood," the explained. "I had Thanatos with me and he was running free as he always does. I remember hearing some noise, something like a crash and he took off. I followed him and he led me directly to the accident site."

"Then you didn't actually see the crash happening?"

"No, I didn't."

"You wouldn't know if there was another car involved either then?"

"I'm afraid no. It took me at least eight or ten minutes to get to the accident after I heard the sound. So any car that might have been there had plenty of time to leave."

"Right." the deputy confirmed as he took notes of the young man's accounts. Milliardo just listened quietly. It wasn't easy, and he had to remind himself that he had promised to let Otto do the talking.

"And what did you do next?"

"I checked both women in the car to see if they were still alive but I could find no pulse, so I ran back home and called the sheriff's office." The young man explained. "And that's pretty much it."

"And then you went on with your daily routine just like that, like nothing had happened." The reporter just couldn't help himself.

"I tried to assist and I contacted the police; what else would you want me to do?" the younger man asked calmly.

"Right, I'm sorry. After all, you didn't even know those girls. It's not like you'd met them before or anything, right."

The groundskeeper's eyes narrowed slightly, but that was pretty much all the reaction Milliardo got out of him. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"Sorry, "the deputy intervened. "For some reason, Mister Peacecraft here is under the impression that he and the two car accident victims spent last night at Deerwood Manor, at the invitation of someone who called himself Treize Khushrenada."

… **_is under the impression…_** _he makes it sound like I'm nuts or something._

"You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"Of course not," the young man insisted. "But it seems highly unlikely. Nobody has used the manor in ages. Even if someone from the Khushrenada family comes by to check on the propriety, they usually stay in the guesthouse."

"But you have keys to the manor?" Otto asked.

"Of course, I have keys to every building and every room at Deerfield. How else could I make sure everything is properly maintained?"

"When was the last time you entered the main house?"

"Just this morning; to check for water damage from the rain."

"Did you find anything unusual… anything that might indicate that someone had broken in?"

"Nothing! Besides I was here last night, and even if I wouldn't have noticed any strangers on the property Mix and Thanatos defiantly would have"

"That will be all Mister Bloom. Thank you for your time."

The deputy rose from his chair, indicating that they were ready to leave, and Milliardo had no choice but to follow. The groundskeeper showed the two men to the door and watched as they walked to the police car.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help," he said just as they were climbing into the vehicle.

Milliardo turned his head, and frowned in irritation. He could have sworn that for just one moment he saw the ghost of a smirk on the younger man's lips.

* * *

"Are you satisfied now?" Otto put the car into gear, backed up slightly and turned on the narrow road.

"Satisfied?" Milliardo echoed. "The guy was lying from the moment he said 'Hello!"

''I don't think he ever said 'Hello'." the deputy pointed out, earning himself a glare from the other man.

"You find this amusing?"

The deputy turned serious. "In all honesty, I really have to agree with Sheriff Bonaparte. Your story does sound a little farfetched. And from what I have heard and seen so far, we are dealing with just another tragic accident. At the moment I see no reason for any further investigation. However..."

"However?"

"Dr Po is a very skilled and, capable medical examiner. If there was any foul play involved, she will find indications of it during her autopsy."

"You are probably right."

"Alright, then I'd suggest that you do whatever you came here to do, and let her do her job. I promise, if there is anything new I'll contact you."

Milliardo nodded. "Fair enough."

The two men didn't speak until Otto dropped the reporter off by his Ferrari.

"Thanks for the ride." Milliardo gave the deputy a curt nod as he slipped out of the patrol car. "By the way, do you have a library in town, somewhere were I can do some research."

The other man nodded. "Across town, right off Main street; you can t miss it. It's right on the corner of the new community center."

"Thanks."

* * *

As Milliardo headed back into town, toward the library, he pulled out his phone and dialed the number for Noin's office. His superior and colleague picked up right away.

"Noin?!

"Milliardo, can you read minds or something? I was just wondering how things were going with your interviews."

"Well..."

"Well?" she echoed warily.

"I haven't really started working on the article yet." he admitted.

"What? Milliardo, you don't seem to realize that we are on a tight time schedule here. I need that article to be ready by tomorrow at noon."

"I know, I know. Don't worry I'll get it done. I've just been a little preoccupied. Two people I knew got killed in a car crash this morning."

"Oh gosh, that's terrible. I'm so sorry. Are you alright?" Noin asked. "You weren't involved in the accident were you?"

"No, I'm fine. However, I think it might not have been an accident"

"Come again?"

Milliardo hesitated for just a moment and then took a deep breath. "Remember all those so called 'accidents' that have been happening around here? Well, I have developed my own theory about what might be behind them."

"Milliardo?!"

He told her about the Khushrenada family and Deerwood Manor. "The estate is so far from town that they were living in virtual isolation. It seemed strange and didn't make much sense, unless of course they were trying to hide something... or someone."

"What are you trying to suggest?"

"What if they were hiding the person responsible for those 'accidents'?"

"You mean a member of the family is a crazy serial killer? But keep in mind those accidents go back for more than a century, don t they?"

"I realize that. But certain mental disorders are congenital are they not? They are passed down from generation to generation...And from what I have found out so far, the Khushrenada family was very rich and probably very powerful, which means they most likely had the influence to cover up the truth."

"Do you have any proof of what you are saying?"

"No, not yet. Like I said, it is only a theory. But I'm heading to the library as we speak to do some research. Maybe I'll be able to find some kind of proof."

"Be careful, Milliardo."

"Don't worry, I'll be. But I need you to do me a favor.

"Yes?"

"I need you to check if you can find anything about the family that precedes their arrival at Victoriaville."

"Alright, consider it done. What was the name again?"

"Khushrenada. That spells K H U S H R E N A D A." he told her.

"Hmm… sounds eastern European. I'm on it, Milliardo. I'll call you as soon as I find something."

"Thanks Noin."

* * *

Milliardo was lucky, the library not only had an extensive news- and history-section but also a high-speed computer network that allowed him to check the news archives of several dozen other libraries in the system.

He had to ID himself and fill out an application form before the lady at the front-desk gave him access to one of the electronic newspaper readers. The library was nearly empty at that time. A mother with two little boys was searching for books in the children section, and a group of teenagers were hanging around one of the computer terminals.

Milliardo managed to find several books about the history of Victoriaville. He took them with him, but he decided to first search for information about any and all accidents and unnatural deaths in the area, before he was going to check the books. The newspaper-readers, a device that allowed him to read photocopies of old newspaper articles, were located in the back of the room. He settled down in front of one of the machines and used the access code the librarian had given him to turn it on.

The first incident he found dated back to 1878; or perhaps it was just the first recorded accident because the local newspaper was only established three months earlier. According to the article it was a riding accident, and the journalist would have probably dismissed it if not for the fact that it occurred on the Deerwood estate. A young man, twenty three years of age, was thrown off his horse and broke his neck. It was probably an open and shut case back then, and nobody did any investigation.

Next was a suicide. A woman who had gotten pregnant out of wedlock killed herself in the woods. The article mentioned that her wrists had been slit, but according to witnesses there was no blood found at the scene.

The third incident had once again happened at Deerwood. Apparently a roofer, working on a repair job at the manor, fell off his ladder. He was still alive when he was found and even regained consciousness for a very short time before he died. He acted very violent and combative, almost as if he was afraid of the people who were trying to help him. The doctor who examined him found no other external injuries but a pair of strange puncture wounds in the back of his neck.

Two years later a local teenager drowned in a nearby fishing hole. Witnesses who helped in the recovery of his body all described that the boy's skin had been very pale, as though 'all the blood had been sucked out of him'.

It went on like that. A hiker disappeared and was found dead days later… A farmer died out on the pasture; apparently he had been attacked and gored by one of his bulls and bled to death…

Milliardo rubbed his eyes. Trying to read the small print on the flickering screen was very tiring. He decided to take a break and check out some of the books, but just before he turned off the machine the young man changed his mind. There was just one more thing he wanted to check up on; the hunting accident that took Treize Khushrenada's life. The sheriff had called it a 'big story' so it was more than likely that it made its way into the news.

Indeed, there were several articles on the subject. They told more or less the same story he already had heard from the sheriff, combined with some personal information about the victim. Milliardo's jaw almost dropped when he came across a picture.

_Impossible! If he died 50 years ago this can't be... But…The same facial features… the same eyes, even the same hint of a slightly condescending smile on his lips._

The reporter knew from the articles that Treize Khushrenada was only 29 years old when he died. He wasn't married and didn't have any children, and there were no siblings either. _But sometimes even distant relatives can look alike, can t they?_

Milliardo was still trying to think of a reasonable explanation, but deep inside he already knew: The man in the black and white photograph and the one who invited him to spend the night at Deerwood Manor were the same person.

_But that's not possible, is it? Even if he for some reason survived the accident back then; he would not look the same, not after fifty years. Unless... _

Milliardo didn't even want to finish that thought, because it just seemed too unbelievable. But nevertheless he reached for writing pad. He could feel the hair in the back of his neck rise, as his eyes flew over the notes he had taken.

_**... no blood found at the scene... a pair of strange puncture wounds on his neck... as though all the blood had been sucked out of him... bled to death...**_

The young man swallowed, mouth suddenly gone dry. _This is... impossible... there is no such thing..._

Milliardo was still trying to come to grip with his findings, when the phone in his pocket started to ring. He quickly turned off the ringer, but not before the librarian threw an admonishing look at him.

"Sorry!" he mouthed apologetically, as he gathered his belongings and the books he had picked out and walked to the front desk.

"Can I leave these here for a moment while I go outside and take that call?"

"Of course, I'll keep an eye on them."

* * *

"Noin? Sorry about that I was inside the library just now."

"No problem," she assured him. "I figured that much. I think I might have something for you."

"Do you?" Milliardo found himself a bench in the smoking area outside the building. "Go ahead."

"I have done a search on the Khushrenada name. Apparently they are blue blood, very old aristocracy; very wealthy and as you suspected quite powerful. But strangely enough I couldn't come up with anything like a family tree. However the name kept popping up here and there all over the globe for centuries. There was a merchant in China around the time of the silk-road; the name came also up in Paris until shortly before the French Revolution. After that I found someone by that name in Kiev in and later in Petersburg.  
He was mentioned together with the czar of Russia, and apparently was courting one of the czar's daughters. There is supposed to be a painting showing him together with the imperial family. I'm still looking for it though. Does this help you in any way?"

"'It does, more than you might think. If you find a picture of that painting can you send it to me?"

"Over the cell?" she asked.

"Yes, but I'm going to turn off my phone for now. I don't want to get my head ripped of if it starts ringing again."

On the other end of the line, Noin chuckled. "Yeah, that would be a problem, wouldn't? But anyway, have **you** found anything yet?"

"I think I did, but I'll tell you once I know more. I'll call you later."

"Alright, later then."

* * *

"I see you are you are interested in our town's history." The librarian gestured at the stack of books as Milliardo came back to pick them up at the front desk.

"Yes, I'm doing research for an article for the newspaper I'm working for." he told her, and it wasn't even a lie.

"Is that so? You know we also have historic photographs, but we keep them under lock and key since they are rather valuable."

Milliardo nodded understandingly. "You wouldn't happen to have photos from back when the first settlers arrived, would you? I've heard that the Khushrenada family was among those arrived early on and founded the town."

"That's right," she confirmed. "If you give me a few minutes I'm sure I can find something for you."

"Thank you; that would great. I'd really appreciate it."

"I'm just doing my job." The librarian turned toward a large filing cabinet and started to search through one of the little drawers. It didn't take too long before she came back and spread out half a dozen old-fashioned, black and white photographs on the counter. The pictures were well preserved, although they were somewhat discolored by age.

"This is Mister Alberts and his family." She explained as she pointed at one of the photos. "He came with the first wave of settlers and he opened the first general store, which is still located at the comer of Main and 3rd Street. Of course…" she chuckled. "The store has changed a little since then. Here we have pictures of the old train station, and this is Main Street back when the town had only a population of 100 or so. And last but not least here is a photo of Duke Khushrenada. I'm not quite sure who the gentleman at his side is." She turned the picture over to check the back. "Hmm it doesn't say either. Would you like me to see if I can find out who he is?"

"Thank you, that's alright." Milliardo assured her. There was no need, really. He recognized the young man with the golden-blond hair, as well as the tawny-haired gentleman next to him in the carriage. He was still using his aristocratic title back then, but there was no doubt in the journalist's mind that he was the same person who called himself Treize a century or so later.

"Thanks, you have been a great help." he told the librarian. "Can I leave these books here? I might come back tomorrow morning to do some more research."

"Sure. I'll leave a note for my colleague. What's your name?"

"Peacecraft. Milliardo Peacecraft."

She scribbled his name and a few comments onto a sticky note and attached the paper to one of the books. "All set. If you come back tomorrow just tell whoever is working here that you have books are on hold for you and she will know where to find them."

"Thanks."

The reporter gathered his notes and left. As he stepped out of the library building Milliardo checked his phone and realized that Noin had sent him a picture of the painting she had been talking about earlier. A cold shiver run down his spine and he opened the message. One look at the picture and the tall, handsome man who was standing with his arm around a beautiful, young woman, was enough to confirm what he already expected by now.

* * *

On the way home Milliardo stopped to grab something to eat, and called Dr. Po to talk with her about the two car accident victims. A few hours later he was back in his motel room, lying on his bed. He had one hand cupped behind his head and in the other he was holding his cell-phone, as he studied the picture his colleague had sent him earlier.

Part of him still was refusing to believe that there could be any truth to the rumors about vampires. But there was no other explanation, was there? This man had been living for centuries it seemed, without as much as growing a gray hair. And he apparently was not the only one. The photo the reporter had seen in the library was testimony to that. Quatre, the young man who had served the wine the other night, had been by Treize's side back then already. But what about Trowa, or Trinton Bloom how he called himself earlier today, was he a vampire too? How come did nobody notice that Treize Khushrenada didn't really die in that shooting accident? How much of that story was true anyway?

Questions over questions… Milliardo would have been a poor excuse for a journalist if they wouldn't have roused his curiosity. He closed his phone, slipped it into his pocket and checked his watch as he sat up. _Well, I know it's considered bad form to make courtesy calls after sundown, but in this case, I don't think I have much of a choice._

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's Note:

(1) Thanatos: the god of Death; a child of Nix (Night) and the brother of Hypnos (Sleep).

(2) Nix: (or Nyx) goddess of Darkness and Night, Mother of Thanatos and Hypnos


	5. Chapter 4

Vampire Chronicles – The Interview

Chapter 4

"Not again!" Milliardo cursed and hit the dashboard with his fist as his car's engine suddenly died on him. As far as he could tell he was within a mile or less from the spot where the Ferrari had stalled the night before.

_Well, at least this time I know the way_, he thought sardonically as he removed the key from the ignition and climbed out of the car. The young man pulled out the emergency kit go grab the flashlight, only to find that the spot where it should have been was empty. _Damn, tonight is not my night, is it?_

He looked up into the night sky. A full moon was shining brightly and there was not a single cloud in sight. _Looks like I'll be fine even without a light._

The journalist found what looked like a narrow path and started to follow it. If he was lucky it was going to lead him directly to Deerwood manor. After about fifteen minutes he slowed down and gazed around warily. For some reason he could not shake the feeling that he was being watched. _Nonsense,_ he tried to tell himself. _Because you know Treize was out here last night watching you, you imagine someone is here again._

Then there was a noise; it was the quiet cracking sound of a dry twig breaking beneath someone's footsteps. The journalist held his step, and suddenly two figures separated themselves from the shadows of the trees and he found himself facing two young men, about his age. One of them was brunet the other had short-cropped, blond hair. In the pale moonlight Milliardo noticed that both of their eyes were the color of amber, and the way they studied him sent a cold shiver down his spine.

"My my, what do we have here, Alex? I think we found ourselves a delicious meal."

_There are more of them? _Milliardo swallowed as he slowly started to back away. _No, definitely not my night. _

"Mueller, you have no manners at all. Look what you did. You frightened him. Let me show you how it is done," the other man's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Hello Gorgeous, would you like to join us for dinner? And I'm afraid I can't take no for an answer," he sneered, exposing a set of large fangs, while his companion burst out in laughter.

The journalist was still moving backward and the same time he reached into his pocket. He wasn't that stupid that we would have returned to this place without taking any precautions. Lucky for him the local gift store carried a nice selection of Christian jewelry and ornaments.

"You are hungry?" he asked as the man took another step toward him. "Then why don't you try your chops on this...?" He pulled out a silver cross and pointed it toward the vampire.

Alex hissed as he jerked back and Milliardo managed a smirk. _Humans 1: Vampires 0_

"That was a dirty trick," the creature snarled. And as the moonlight reflected in those amber-colored eyes they sparkled with fury and ferocity.

The reporter's mouth was dry as desert sand. He threw a quick gaze over his shoulder, trying to consider if he should run or not. But run where; back to his car or toward the mansion?

Suddenly the blond vampire moved, so fast that it was all but a blur for Milliardo. He steeled himself, determined to not give up without a fight. But before he even knew what happened something hit the back of his neck hard enough to knock him out on the spot

"Nice move." Alex grinned as the journalist collapsed onto the forest floor.

"Thanks." his partner returned. "But you know the rules. I took him down, I get the first bite."

"Alright, alright, just hurry up, I'm starving."

The blond vampire ran his tongue over his fangs as he crouched down next to the unconscious young man. Suddenly there was some movement, something like a big, dark shadow shifting about. Mueller was picked up and tossed aside like a rag-doll. He flew several feet before he crashed into a tree and crumbled to the ground, dazed and confused.

Then a tall, tawny-haired figure appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Alex's eyes went wide as he recognized the master vampire. Treize slowly reached out, grabbed him by his throat and lifted him up like he weighed nothing.

"So, we meet again. I thought I'd told you not to set foot into my territory again."

Alex snorted and tried to throw his head back in a gesture of defiance, but it was difficult to look dignified while dangling two feet over the ground.

"You are lucky, you caught me in a good mood tonight, so I'll let you live… for now."

Meanwhile Mueller had regained his senses. With a low, angry growl he tried to stagger back to his feet. He was still kneeling when his gaze fell upon a thick, three-feet-long piece of wood. One side of the stick had a sharp and pointy edge, making it a perfect stake. He reached out. But before he could get his hands on the weapon he felt the coldness of a steel blade against his neck.

"Do you really want to die?" a voice asked almost softly.

Treize turned his head to see what was going on behind his back. Mueller was on his hands and knees, frozen, with Quatre's rapier pressed firmly against his throat, while Trowa was crouching down next to the unconscious journalist. The tawny-haired man dropped Alex like a sack of potatoes.

"Take your partner and get out of my sight, now," he told him. "But mark my word; if I ever see either of you on my land again I'll rip out your heart and make you watch while I feed it to my dogs." The threat was only intensified by the fact that the master vampire delivered it without even raising his voice. "Let him go, Quatre," he ordered.

The blond complied. He pulled back the weapon but stopped short of sheathing it, just in case. But neither of the two rogue vampires seemed inclined to fight for their prey. As they took off, Treize turned toward Trowa. "How is he doing?"

"He is unconscious, but I can't see any wounds. So, I guess that's a good thing. I'll carry him back to the manor."

"I'll take him." Treize replied, his voice leaving no room for argument.

* * *

"_Oh my, the wine really was a little strong it seems." _

"_I'm sorry."_

_He could feel a strong arm around his waist just as the world around him started to fade into black. When he regained his senses he was lying sprawled out on a very soft and comfortable surface. He could feel someone's presence and when he opened his eyes Treize was leaning over him, wearing only a pristine, white shirt with his black trousers. Startled he tried to move away but a pair of powerful hands grabbed his shoulders and held him in place, firmly but without force._

"_Relax!" Treize told him. "This won't hurt much, trust me."_

_There was something in his voice that made Milliardo believe him. He closed his eyes as the tawny-haired vampire dipped his head. He winced and dug his fingers into the soft, silky sheets as powerful jaws clamped down on his neck. There was a moment of sharp pain as those fangs broke the skin, but it only lasted for a few seconds before being replaced by a feeling of intense bliss like he had never experienced it before. A faint smell of blood reached his nose as the vampire started to feed._

_Milliardo moaned. Without even knowing what he was doing he reached up. One of his hands found its way beneath Treize's shirt and started to explore the vampire's soft skin._

_After a few moments Treize pulled back with a content smile. He licked his lips and ran his tongue over the long puncture wound, which almost instantly closed and his ministration._

"_You are so beautiful and so tasty too." he purred, as he pushed himself up on his hands and knees. _

_Milliardo, still riding the wave of rapture induced by the vampire's bite, looked up at him with half-lidded, pleasure clouded eyes..._

Milliardo slowly started to stir. First his senses returned, then his memory. He was lying on his back on something soft; a pillow was propped under his head. The last thing he remembered was being attacked in the woods by two…vampires. Even now the thought that such creatures actually existed seemed outlandish. _Where am I? Am I dead_

He slowly opened his eyes and found himself lying in a large, four poster bed. The room seemed familiar, he realized as he let his gaze wander. _This is Deerwood manor, isn't it? How did I get here?_

Milliardo sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He rubbed his neck which was still sore from when he had been hit during the attack. Whoever had brought him here and put him onto this bed had also removed his shoes. They were sitting neatly arranged, next to the nightstand.

The reporter rose, slipped on his shoes and tiptoed to the door. He pressed his ear against the wood and listened for a few moments. When he didn't hear anything he reached for the door handle. It almost surprised him to find that he wasn't locked in. Slowly and cautiously Milliardo opened the door. He listened again and looked around. Everything was quiet, almost as though he was alone in the large house.

He slipped out of his room and down the stairs. His gaze fell onto the heavy, oak door at the entrance. If he had wanted he could have just walked out, right then and there. But there was something that stopped him; reminded him that he had come here for a reason.

As he looked around he noticed another flight of stairs, leading down into... what he assumed to be the basement. The staircase itself lay in the dark but Milliardo could see flickering lights from below. Curiosity got the better of him and he carefully made his way down. His jaw almost dropped as he reached the foot of the stairs and found himself in a large, candlelit room. The walls were covered with dark tapestries and in the center of the room stood several large coffins.

_It's a crypt!_

Of course in a normal crypt one wouldn't expect to find the coffins open. Milliardo hesitated before moving closer. He held his step in front of the coffin in the center. It was the largest of the three and most the decorated one; carved from some kind of dark wood and lined with deep red velvet. The young man reached out and let his fingertips run over the soft lining, amazed and somewhat terrified at the same time.

"Tsk, Tsk, sneaking into other people's bedrooms..."

_That voice!_ Milliardo jerked around with a start.

The tawny-haired vampire was standing at the foot of the stairs, a half amused, half mocking smirk on his lips.

"Don't come any closer!" the journalist warned as Treize took a step toward him. "I did some research. I know who... what you are."

"And what exactly would that be?" the vampire took another step, and Milliardo reached into his pocket.

"Are you looking for your cross? I'm afraid you dropped it in the woods. You'll have to forgive me for not picking it up and bringing it along."

"So you **did** bring me here?" The reporter was only conforming what he had suspected all along.

"But of course. I could not just leave you there, could I? This is the second time now. Don't you ever listen when people try to warn you? I thought I made it clear last night how dangerous the forest can be at this hour."

Milliardo snorted. "Oh yes, you are a real Good Samarian, aren't you? For all I know you might have sent those two… creatures to attack me."

"And why would I do that? What makes you even think that I have anything to do with them."

"Why wouldn't you? After all, they are vampires, just like you."

"Vampires, yes." Treize confirmed as he settled down on the edge of one of the coffins. "Like me, I think not. We call them rogues."

"Rogues?" Milliardo echoed. Part of him was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he was standing here, having a conversation with a vampire.

"Yes, vampires exiled by their own clan. They are shunned by anyone else, so they become outsiders without territory and without status."

"Exiled for what?"

"For some type of crime they committed." The tawny-haired vampire shrugged. "Believe it or not, but we do live by strict laws. Break those laws and you will be punished. Exile is one of the harshest and most feared punishments. It is only used in severe cases."

"What do vampires consider crimes?" The reporter snorted. "Murder doesn't seem to be one of them? You killed those girls I was with last night, didn't you?"

"That's a pretty harsh accusation. Considering that I opened my house to the three of you. Why would I want to kill them?"

"Because that's what vampires do, isn't it; kill people, feed on their blood?"

"Oh right, I forgot, you are an expert on vampires, right? You did **research.** Please enlighten me, what exactly does that mean? …aside from reading a few books and articles, written by people who never in their life even met one of us."

Milliardo blinked. Did he detect a hint of bitterness and resentment in the vampire's voice?

"Well then, if I'm so wrong about this. You won't mind explaining a few things to me, would you? After all, what's better then hearing things from the hors…um vampire's mouth?"

Treize hesitated, but after a few moments he nodded. "Very well. But perhaps we should go upstairs were we can get a little more comfortable."

"Fine." The reporter agreed. He had to admit that he felt anything but comfortable down here.

"After you!" His 'host' suggested with a polite gesture toward the stairs.

"No, after you." Milliardo insisted.

The vampire shrugged and walked upstairs ahead of the blond journalist. They reached the first floor just as Treize's two companions, or 'caregivers' how he had called them, came walking down the hall.

"Sire, there you are. We were looking for you."

"Ah, Trowa; or was it Trinton, I forgot?!" the journalist remarked, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Depends on who is asking," the dark-haired vampire shot back.

"You have got to forgive his manors; he gets always a little… grumpy if he doesn't get enough sleep." Treize remarked casually. "You two are going out?"

"Yes, we are going to make another round. If those two haven't fed yet they might actually return."

"Good thinking." The older vampire nodded seriously. "But be mindful, I don't trust them. And let Otto know to keep his eyes open during the day as well."

"Yes, Sire." Trowa acknowledged.

"Wait a second, you mean Deputy Otto also…he is…" Milliardo was so stunned he almost forgot to close his mouth.

"A vampire? Of course not." Treize looked at him as if he had suggested that the moon was made of cheese.

"But he knows about this…about what you are?"

"That, I'm afraid, is something you'll have ask him about."

* * *

"Can I get you something to drink?" Treize asked as he and the reporter settled down in the sitting room.

"No thanks, I think I pass. Somehow your wine didn't agree with me last night."

The vampire chuckled. "I hope you are not suggesting that I had anything to do with that."

_Gods, he is so smooth. But then again he had a long time to practice, didn't he?_ Milliardo tried to tell himself to see this as just another interview, and not to let himself be fooled by the other man's silver tongue.

"You said you would be answering my questions honestly, right?"

"I'll try my best."

"Alright, I'd like you to explain to me… If you are not killing them, why have people been dying right and left ever since you got here?"

"My dear Milliardo…I hope you don't mind me calling you that..." Treize draped one leg over the other and leaned back in his armchair. "People are dying everywhere, every day. That's part of human life, isn't it?"

Milliardo scowled at him. "You know exactly what I mean. I'm not talking about those who died of natural causes. I mean those whose deaths have been considered accidents. And please don't try to tell me again that they are all but a bunch of rumors and urban legends made up to please the tourists who come here to get scared. I'm talking about people like Nikolai Korsakov, Maria Perkins..."

"You have no idea how wrong you are if you think that I had anything to do with their deaths. Nikolai had always been careless. It was surprising that he didn't get killed earlier, if you ask me. Trust me; I'd know what I am talking about. He was my cousin after all. He was a drinker, a gambler and a womanizer. And when he returned from the tavern night after night, drunk as a pig, he insisted on riding his own horse rather than renting a carriage – did I mention he was cheap too? Back then this was quite common though, you could compare it with drunk-driving accidents nowadays.   
As for Maria, if you want to hold someone responsible for her death, blame society who judged her too harshly. Her only crime was to fall in love with a man who didn't have an ounce of honor."

"Yeah, but why wasn't there any blood found where she died?"

The vampire gave another shrug. "I'm no medial examiner, but if I remember right she died in the woods and it was raining that night. The blood had probably been washed away and seeped into the ground by the time she was found."

Milliardo's eyes narrowed. _He has an explanation for everything, doesn't he?_ "Fine, I'll give you that one. But what about Alfredo Rossellini; the roofer who died right here at this estate? The doctor found bite marks on his neck. How are you going to explain those away?"

"Bite marks?"

"A pair of strange puncture wounds in the back of his neck…" the reporter quoted.

"Those? Those were no bite marks." Treize huffed. "Alfredo was nailing down support beams for the shingles on the roof. The poor man probably grabbed on to one of them when he lost his footing. But when he fell the plank came loose and dropped to the ground. He landed on it and impaled himself on a pair of nails sticking from the wood."

Milliardo wasn't convinced. "The doctor never mentioned that in his report."

"Of course not. By the time he arrived we had lifted the man up and carried him into the house. You don't believe me, do you?"

"I'm not sure," the young man admitted.

"Fair enough." The vampire spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. "But allow me to ask you one question. Why would I want to kill any of those people in the first place? As you mentioned earlier, we live on human blood. Killing those who provide what we need to survive would make as much sense, as for a dairy farmer to slaughter the cows that give him milk."

Milliardo's eyes narrowed as he glared at Treize. The idea of being compared to a dairy cow did not go over too well.

"I'm sorry," the vampire smiled wryly. "Not the best comparison, I realize."

"But a point well taken," the journalist admitted. "So, you are saying that you or your men had nothing to do with those deaths, or the deaths of the two girls from last night"

Treize shook his head. "Absolutely nothing. We took the three of you back to your cars before sunrise and under normal circumstances the two of them would have never remembered anything about the night and their stay here."

_The two of them..._ Milliardo frowned. _What about me?__Was I supposed to remember?_

The vampire smiled softly, as though he was able to guess what the young man was thinking. "Like I mentioned, we don't get many interesting visitors out here. Usually there are two kinds of people; either those who are for one reason or another obsessed with us, or on the other side of the spectrum, those who are scared to death. Either way, they are usually utterly boring. But the moment I met you I knew you were different."

Milliardo huffed. "So you spread little clues around like breadcrumbs, knowing I would pick them up and start looking for more."

"I apologize, but you can't' blame me for wanting to see you again, can yon? And tell me, would you have believed me if I'd have told you the truth last night?"

"You played me!" the reporter accused. "You were in control the whole time, weren't you? And you are doing it again. I'm supposed to be the one asking the questions, remember?"

Treize sighed. "Very well, what other questions do you have?"

"If not you, could it be that those two... Rogues had anything to do with Sylvia and Hilde's deaths?"

"I seriously doubt it. They have been causing trouble for a few weeks now, but Trowa had traced their tracks to the southern part of my territory. He was following their trail that morning, that's why he was still awake when the accident happened. And I'm afraid that's all it was, just a terrible accident."

_It is possible,_ he had to admit. The streets were still wet from the rain that morning, hitting some standing water, loosing control; it could have happened that way. It would not have been the first time and not the last for sure. Dr. Po's finding of massive blood loss due to internal injures and series head trauma fit the scenario too. And for some reason Milliardo felt some sense of relief. Not that it made any difference, it didn't bring the girls back or anything, but at least he knew it didn't have anything to do with him hinging them to this house. What that what he was really out to proof? This wasn't about vampires or serial killers, it was about his own feelings of guilt, he suddenly realized.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, "he nodded. "I'm fine. But since we are still talking about accidents; what about your own; the one that was supposed to have killed you five years ago."

Treize looked surprised for a few moments then laughed. "Oh that?! I wouldn't exactly call it an 'accident'. It was more an attempted murder, I guess."

Milliardo blinked in surprise. Now that was a little unexpected. "Are you saying that hunter meant to shoot you?"

"Well, most hunters I know don't have silver bullets in their guns when they are tracking deer."

Silver bullets?! "A silver bullet is one of the few things that can kill a vampire, so why are you not dead?" the young man asked.

"I might not be, if not for poor marksmanship. The first shot caught me quite by surprise." the vampire recounted. "I always felt relaxed and let my guard down around here."

"But why did you fake your own death? I don't get it." The journalist remembered reading that it wasn't the bullet that had killed the duke, but an infection of the wound a few weeks later.

Treize shrugged. "I just took advantage of the situation. It was getting time for me to make my exit anyway, so why not die. As you probably can guess, we can only live among humans for so long before they start noticing that something isn't right."

That made sense of course. "I suppose though. Even facelifts and botox can only be used as an excuse for so long." Milliardo grinned. He was not sure why, but there was something about the older man... vampire, that made him feel quite related and at ease. Any apprehension he had earlier had melted away like snow in spring.

"Yes, and back then we didn't even have those options." Treize chuckled quietly. But then he grew serious again. "I'm afraid we will have to end and our little chat. The sun is going to rise soon; I'll take you back to your car."

It was just before dawn, the darkest hour of the night, when they arrived at the place were Milliardo had left the Ferrari.

"I need to thank you." Treize said as the reporter climbed behind the wheel of his car. "I haven't had such a pleasant and intelligent conversation in a very long time."

"Thank you, I enjoyed it too. But I was wondering... I till have a lot of unanswered questions. If you don t mind, I'd like to come back tonight."

"No!" The vampire's voice was sharp enough to startle the young man. Treize must have realized it too, because he added much softer and more subtle. "It would be too dangerous."

"Don't worry, I've learned my lesson: I would make sure to be at the manor before the sun sets." Milliardo assured him.

"No," he repeated. "Not tonight. Tonight not even I would be able to protect you." He leaned down, one arm propped against the window, so that he was face to face with the journalist. "Milliardo, I want you to promise me not to come anywhere near Deerwood tonight."

Milliardo blinked in surprise. There was almost something akin to desperation in the vampire's voice. "Alright," he promised. "I'll stay away. You have nothing to worry about."

Treize nodded as he straightened. "Then I shall leave you now."

"Wait!" There was still something that was troubling the young man. "Thanks to your 'breadcrumbs' my memories of last night have slowly returned. But for some reason I still can't remember what happened after I dropped the wineglass and you offered to take me upstairs."

The vampire's lips curled into a soft smile. "Are you sure?"

_What kind of an answer is that?_ Frowning to himself, Milliardo gazed down as he put the key in the ignition. When he looked up again Treize was gone, the place where he stood just a moment ago empty.

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's Note:


	6. Chapter 5

**Happy Halloween!**

Vampire Chronicles – The Interview

Chapter 5

_Milliardo gasped when the tawny-haired vampire nipped at his neck, inflicting a mixture of pleasure and pain, without breaking the skin. Nimble fingers quickly unbuttoned his shirt. A rush of cold air hit his bare skin as the fabric was peeled away, and he shivered._

_Treize captured his mouth in a heated and passionate kiss. His tongue teased the young man's lips till they parted slightly, allowing him entrance. He slipped his tongue between them, plundering the hot cavern of the other's mouth. Milliardo groaned. His own tongue moved to tangle with Treize's, as he lifted a hand to cup the back of the vampire's head and bury his fingers into silky hair. It felt so good... _

_Before breaking their kiss Treize nipped at Milliardo's lower lip and licked away a tiny drop of blood that formed where his fangs had pierced the soft skin._

_Milliardo shuddered as a strong but gentle hand slowly moved over his chest until it found one of his nipples. Long fingers circled it slowly before giving it little squeezes and twists. Then Treize lowered his head. His tongue flickered over the little, pink bud, sending waves of pleasure through the young man's body and straight to his groins. Milliardo flushed, but did nothing to stop the vampire. Soft lips enveloped the quickly hardening nub; sharp fangs grazed over sensitive skin. Milliardo's breath came in staggered pants, harsh to his own ears. He arched his back, his nails digging into the silk sheets beneath him. He closed his eyes with a content sigh, writhed and moaned under the Treize's talented touches. _

_Treize raised his head just long enough to gaze into a pair of pleasure-clouded, blue eyes. "Beautiful, you are so beautiful," he breathed, before turning his attention back to the young man's nipples. He suckled them softly, rolling the tips around with his tongue, and grazing his teeth over the now taut nubs. With an almost feral growl he slipped the shirt off the reporter's shoulders, exposing more pale skin, and placed a trail of wet kisses along the young man's jaw. He suckled at the soft flesh at the nape of the neck, raising exquisite little bruises, while one of his hands wandered over Milliardo's broad chest, down to slim hip and finally found its way between Milliardo's legs._

_The young man whimpered softly and raised his hips slightly, pressing his arousal seductively against Treize's fingers. He needed more than just kisses; his throbbing erecting was aching for release. "How long are you going to keep teasing me?" he growled._

"_Hush," Treize told him. "I want to relish every moment of this." One of his hands disappeared beneath the waistband of Milliardo's trousers, lingering for a moment in the patch of soft curls above his manhood, before moving deeper. Long fingers fondled the firm shaft gently._

Riiiiiiing….Riiiiing…

Milliardo groaned. Still half asleep and with his eyes closes he reached out and felt for the phone on his nightstand. He flipped it open and pressed it against his ear. "Hello?"

"Milliardo Peacecraft?" A somewhat familiar voice on the other end of the line asked.

"Deputy!?" He blinked and slowly opened his eyes.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you... again. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I've heard you went out to Deerwood last night, alone."

"I'm fine!" they journalist assured the other man as he blinked the last traces of sleep from his eyes.

"Well then, sorry again."

"Umm... deputy?!"

"Yes?"

"Can we meet somewhere? I'd like to talk to you... privately if that's possible."

"Well..." there was a short pause and Milliardo could hear the rustling of paper in the background as Otto checked his schedule. "I have a meeting I need to go to soon, but if you want I can pick you up at the motel in an hour. Does that sound alright?"

"One hour, sounds great." That would still give him enough time to shower and grab something for breakfast, or more precisely lunch."

"Okay, I'll see you then."

Milliardo closed his phone and put it back onto the nightstand. He fell back into the pillows, interlaced his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. It was odd, he was still feeling all warm and fuzzy inside; the feeling you get when waking up from a wonderful dream, but he could, for the life of it, not remember what he had dreamed about when the phone woke him. Finally he pushed aside the comforter and climbed out of bed. For just a fleeting moment, while he gathered his clothes and headed for the shower, his assignment and the article that was due in a few hours crossed his mind. But the thought was quickly pushed aside by memories of the night before and his conversation with the still so mysterious vampire who called himself Treize Khushrenada.

* * *

The deputy's police car was standing in the motel's parking lot when Milliardo left Mimi's Café. The deputy noticed him too and tapped his horn to get the reporter's attention. Milliardo raised his hand in greeting as he walked over to the car.

"Should we go to my place?" Otto suggested. "It's just around the corner."

"Sounds great." The young man ducked his head as he slipped into the passenger seat. They drove for about a block and a half and stopped in front of a pretty little two-story house with a neatly maintained front yard and little flowerbeds surrounded by stones.

"Your house?" Milliardo asked.

"No, I just rent the upper floor. The lady who owns it is widowed I make sure that the place doesn't fall apart and she cooks my meals," explained the deputy.

They entered the house through a back entrance that led to a flight of stairs leading to the second floor.

Otto showed his guest into the living room. "Make yourself comfortable. I'm going to grab something to eat and some coffee downstairs. I hope you don't mind, but I haven't had time to eat lunch yet!"

"Not at all," Milliardo assured him.

As the other man left, he started to look around the room. There were some pictures on the walls of Otto in uniform at the police academy, along with a few decorations and diplomas. On a sideboard were more photos, most of them showing Otto as a child or teenager together with a man who looked a little too old to be his father. In one of the pictures Otto was holding a crossbow and stood proudly next to a wild boar he seemed just to have shot.

Milliardo continued looking around. On a small table by the window he found a burner and some equipment that looked like it could be used to melt lead or other soft metal. The young man frowned as he noticed several small, silvery balls that reminded him of bug shots or oversized BB gun bullets.

"Please don't touch those."

Milliardo turned with a start. "These are silver bullets, aren't they?!"

The deputy nodded solemnly as he walked over to the table and set down a plate with sandwiches and a small tray with two cups of coffee, cream and sugar. "It's quite possible that I might need them."

The reporter's frown deepened. "**Who** are you?"

Otto looked at him then gestured toward the table. "Sit down, I'll tell you."

He waited for Milliardo to settle down on one of the chairs by the table before he continued. "I'm afraid I wasn't totally honest with you when I told you the story about how I got to this town and why I stayed here. Actually I came to Victoriaville for one reason and one reason only; to complete what my grandfather started fifty years ago."

"Your grandfather?"

The deputy nodded in conformation. "You see, I. come from a long line of vampire hunters. My parents got killed by rogues when I was still a baby. My grandfather raised me and passed on the 'tricks of the trade' to me."

"You mean... he was the one who shot Duke Khushrenada back then?"

Otto gave another nod. "He had told me the story many times while I grew up. He warned me to not repeat his mistake. But when he died five years ago I threw his advice in the wind packed my bags and headed for Victoriaville. I had been training for a long time and I figured I was skilled enough to take on even a master vampire."

"What... what happened?" Milliardo wanted to know.

"I underestimated him." The deputy admitted. "Just like granddad did back then. He could have killed me right then and there. But for some reason he didn't even though I made it pretty clear that I wasn't going anywhere. I was going to stay in town and if he or any other vampire would give me any reason I **would** kill them."

"And?" The journalist reached for one of the coffee cups, poured himself some cream and stirred it while he looked questioningly at the other man.

"He gave me a polite smile and said: 'Excellent, I'll be sleeping much better from now on, knowing that somebody is watching over my town during the day.'"

Milliardo almost laughed. _Yes, somehow that sounds very Treize-like._ "Well, at least he seems to care about the people here."

"Make no mistake." Otto snorted. "Vampires don't care about anything but themselves. And as far as I'm concerned Treize is no exception. He is territorial and possessive, yes. He watches over Victoriaville, not because he cares, but because he considers it **his**. But then I might be wrong." He gave the other man a strange grin. "There might be something, or someone, he does care about."

"Huh?"

"Me finding you asleep in your car yesterday morning wasn't exactly by accident. He had Trowa call me before contacting the police dispatcher. He told me where I would find you and asked me to make sure you were okay."

"So what?" Milliardo huffed even as he could feel heat creep into his cheeks. He quickly raised the coffee cup to his lips and took a few long gulps, hoping the other man wouldn't notice his blush. "Anyway," he tried to change the subject. "Since you seem to know a lot about vampires; what about those two rogues that attacked me last night? Alex and Mueller I believe is what they called themselves. Do you know anything about them?"

"Not much," the deputy admitted. He reached for one of the sandwiches, took a large bite, chewed and swallowed it before he continued. "They showed up a few weeks ago. They must be either desperate or suicidal. No halfway intelligent vampire would provoke a conflict with a ruling clan leader."

"A ruling clan leader? You mean Treize? I had no idea he had such power and status. What else do you know about him?"

"Do you ever run out of questions?" Otto laughed.

"Not a chance, not any time soon at least."

"Alright, as far as I know Treize has lived for at least five or six hundred years, which is not really that old. But was born into the Romefeller clan, a very old and powerful clan, and groomed to become the new clan leader. However, he started to rebel against the elders and many of the old rules and laws. He found a large fellowship especially amongst younger vampires who consider themselves a new generation with new principles. Eventually he left Romefeller together with his followers and proclaimed himself the ruling leader of his own clan. He uses Deerwood manor as his retreat when he is not tending to matters of the court. And that's pretty much it." The deputy took another bite from his sandwich. "But what about you and your newspaper article; weren't you supposed to interview Sheriff Bonaparte and not me?"

"Yeah well, you could say there was a little change of plans. I think I'll stay in town a little longer."

"Oh?!" The deputy didn't seem as surprised as he pretended to be.

"Yes, I'm thinking that perhaps with Treize's permission I can write a story like no one else has; the truth about vampires so to speak. I'm beginning to think that human ignorance makes us think worse of them then they really are."

"So he has gotten to you, hasn't he?" Otto looked at his guest with a odd grin on his face. "Well I'm not surprised, he can be smooth as an oil slick on a country road, and he can be charming enough that even a rattlesnake would surrender its next meal if he asked for it."

"I don't know what you are talking about. This is strictly business; I am a journalist and he provides a sensational story."

"Really?!" the deputy's grin grew even wider at the faint hue of crimson in Milliardo's cheeks.

The reporter huffed. "Look who is talking."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You came here to kill Treize, didn't you? But now you are living together like the fox and the hound dog."

"I never said I had changed my mind about killing him, did I? He just hasn't given me any reason yet." Otto replied with a shrug. "I have learned a lot since I came here. Truth is, if Treize died there is no saying who might take over his clan. Besides, fights for domination are known to be bloody. I guess leaving him in power for now might be the lesser of the two evil."

"Riiight!"

Otto reached for another sandwich and Milliardo sipped his coffee. For a few minutes either of the two men spoke, until the deputy looked up and asked. "So you are really planning on going back?"

"Yes," the journalist confirmed. "But not tonight. He asked me to stay away from Deerwood tonight, but I don't have the slightest idea why."

"Are you serious?" Otto looked at him like he had to be joking. "Don't you know what night tonight is?"

"Yeah, it's Halloween, but…"

"Its All Souls Night, the night when vampires succumb to their most primal urges. It's dangerous enough for a human to be around them on a normal day, but during All Souls Night vampires forget even their own strengths and they can easily kill you even without intending to."

"Then... when he said he would not be able to protect me, he wasn't talking about other vampires." Milliardo realized with a shiver.

Otto nodded. "He would not be able to protect you from himself."

"Is that why you made those silver bullets? In case you'll need to defend yourself?"

"More or less," he confirmed. "I'll need to make sure that none of them come into town tonight." The deputy checked his watch and gave a regretful sigh. "I'm afraid I have to go back to work. Can I take you back to your motel?"

"Yes, thanks." Milliardo nodded. "And thanks also for answering many of my questions."

"No problem," Otto laughed. "I don't really mind. It's nice to have someone to talk about these things with. Since my grandfather died I have been pretty much keeping to myself."

"In that case, I might be back with more questions."

"Like I said, I don't mind."

* * *

"Miss Noin?!" Lucrezia Noin was on her way back to her office after lunch, when the receptionist in the lobby stopped her.

"What is it Kathy?"

"This letter was delivered by carrier for you, while you were gone," the young woman explained as she handed her a business size envelope.

"Who is it from?"

"Mister Peacecraft."

_Milliardo?_ Noin didn't even wait till she got to her office before ripping open the letter and pulling out a few pieces of handwritten paper. She had only heard from her colleague once in the last week. He had left her a message telling her that he was fine and he would get in touch with her again. She unfolded the paper and started to read them.

_**Dear Noin,**_

_**I just wanted to let you know that I was okay, before you start mobilizing the National Guard to have them look for me. I'm sorry that I didn't get the article written like I had promised. I hope you are not angry about it.**_

**_Remember when I told you about me little 'theory' regarding those accidents in Victoriaville? Well, it turned out I could not have been more wrong about that. However I'm on to something else, something far bigger right now. This might just be the biggest story of my live. I'm sorry, but I can't tell you more right now. _**

_**I need you to do me a favor. Enclosed in this letter you will find my resignation. Could you please hand it to the boss? Tell him not to worry, I have sent the equipment back and the package should arrive in the next few days. **_

_**That's pretty much all for now. I'll be in touch again.**_

_**Milliardo **_

For the longest time Noin stared at the piece of paper, dumbfounded. Part of her was almost sure that this had to be one of Milliardo's strange jokes. She reached for her phone and dialed his number, but just like any other time she had tried to call him for the past week, he was either out of reach or his phone was turned off. With a frustrated grunt she turned off her phone. _Milliardo, please be safe._

* * *

"Milliardo, are you sure about this?" Deputy Otto asked skeptically. Over the past week the reporter had spent a lot of time with him; almost as much as he was spending at Deerwood Manor, and the two of them had become quite friendly.  
His friend had just confined in him that Treize was leaving the estate to take care of matters at the court and to do some traveling. He had invited Milliardo to join him and his men on his journeys.

"I'm positive," Milliardo assured him. Enthusiasm was clearly written over his face. "This might be the chance of my life."

Otto wasn't so sure. "This might also be the best chance to loose your life," he pointed out.

"I'm sure it will be alright." the journalist insisted, "Treize would have never invited me to travel with him if he thought it would put me in danger. That much I know about him."

The deputy shook his head, unconvinced. "A vampire court is no place for humans." He tried to reason with the other man, but Milliardo had already made up his mind and there was nothing he could have said or done to make him rethink.

"When are you going to leave?"

"Tomorrow night. I'll spend the day at Deerwood so this will be the last time we see each other untill we return."

Otto nodded as he rose from his chair. He walked over to the small table by the window, opened a drawer and removed something about the size of a letter opener. "Take this!" he demanded as he handed the object to his friend.

"A dagger?"

"A silver dagger," the other man clarified "I hope that you will never need it but it will make me feel better if I know you are not totally unprotected."

"Thanks. "Milliardo accepted the small weapon and rose to his feet. "I'd better go now. I promised Treize to meet him shortly after dusk."

Otto walked the reporter to the door. Then he stepped back into his room and to the window, from where he watched the young man climb into his car and drive away. _I hope you know what you are doing_, he thought wistfully. _Take care of yourself, Milliardo._

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's Note:


	7. Epilogue

Vampire Chronicles – The Interview

Epilogue

**One year later.**

Deputy Otto froze. The moment he got out of his patrol car he could feel the present of anther being; not human, somewhere nearby. He reached beneath the driver seat and in the blink of an eye he had loaded his crossbow with a small, silver-tipped arrow. He could never be too careful, especially not tonight.

"Easy, it's just me." A dark figure, with long flowing hair separated itself from the shadows and stepped out onto the road in front of the deputy's house.

"Milliardo?!" Otto's eyes went wide in shock as realization hit. Although they had stayed in contact, he had not seen his friend in nearly a year. And the reporter had never mentioned…"You have…?"

"Changed?" Milliardo completed the sentenced with a little smirk. "By the way, would you mind pointing that thing somewhere else?" he gestured at the weapon in the deputy's hand. Even at this distance the silver tip of the arrow seemed to emit a hot glow.

Otto hesitated, but finally lowered the bow, still staring at his friend in utter disbelief. "Why...?" he asked.

"It's a long story. But…" The blond smiled softly. "Do you believe in fate?"

"Fate?"

"Yes." Milliardo nodded. "I realize it might be hard to understand for you. But, after being with Treize for a few months I realized that my place is his side, not for a few years or even a lifetime, but for eternity."

"Eternity is a very long time Milliardo." the deputy pointed out somberly. "I really hope you made the right decision.

"I'm positive." Milliardo's a smile grew into a smirk.

Otto turned to put his weapon back into his car and settled down on the ledge of a flowerbed where his friend joined him moments later. "When did you get back?"

"Late last night; we will probably stay for a few months. What's new with you?"

"Not much really. Things don't change much around here."

They talked until the moon was hanging over the old church building. Otto took a deep breath. "I hate to do this, Milliardo, but I need you to leave now. I can't allow you stay in town tonight."

The vampire nodded as he rose to his feet. "I know. I just came by to say hallo anyway." This was only his first All Soul Night, but he was already beginning to feel it deep inside, the fire that seemed to be burning in his veins. He started to walk away but turned once more to face his friend. "I haven't really changed that much, you know."

_I'd love to believe that. And I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt._ Otto managed to smirk. "Then I guess I'll see you again soon.

"Most definitely," Milliardo assured him. "I have a lot to talk to you about." With that the vampire walked off and finally disappeared into the dark.

* * *

"Where have you been?" Treize was waiting for him when Milliardo returned to the manor. The vampire turned up his nose in disgust; he knew the answer even before the blond said anything. The human smell still lingered on his clothes.

"It's All Souls Night and the first thing you do when you wake up is to meet **him**?" He snarled in bad temper. He approached the younger vampire with a few large strides, grabbed his chin and lifted it. "Have you forgotten that you are my mate? This is **our** night. You are mine and mine only!"

Treize dipped his head and pressed his mouth forcefully against his mate's, while one of his hands cupped the back of his head. Sharp claws buried themselves in long, silky hair. The younger vampire didn't fight the display of dominance. He closed his eyes and parted his lips slightly.

"I have not forgotten," he whispered once Treize broke the kiss. "And I would not want it any other way." He let his head fall back to expose his throat to the tawny-haired vampire.

Treize gave a deep, satisfied growl at this gesture of complete submission, and his expression softened. He kissed Milliardo again, gentler and more tender this time, driven not by domination but by passion alone.

"Besides, it's dangerous. I told you not to leave the estate without Quake or Trowa at your side, didn't I?"

"Don't worry," Milliardo told his mate. "I still know how to blend in amongst humans."

The master vampire gave him a disapproving look. "It's not humans I'm worried about. You are still just a fledgling. The fact alone that I have chosen you to be my mate makes you an easy target for those who want to harm me. And you have neither the power nor the status yet to defend yourself."

"I'm sorry." Milliardo lowered his gaze. "I did not think of it that way."

Treize raised his hand to push a few strand of silky, silvery hair from his mates face. He dipped his head and placed a gentle kiss onto his forehead. "No harm done. But be more careful next time."

"I will. "Milliardo promised. "Should we go and grab a bite to eat?"

"I already fed," the older vampire replied "Enough for both of us. Let's go upstairs instead. The night is young and I have been waiting for this for a long time. Tonight I'll teach you everything you need to know about love, my dear."

A sound somewhere between a growl and a purr escaped Milliardo's throat. A pleasant shiver ran down his and he could feel his blood beginning to boil. "I'm ready and willing to learn, Sire." he purred.

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's Note: This concludes the first part of the 'Vampire Chronicles' arc. (At least it does for readers. There is a little more to that chapter on my website. I was not positive if it would pass the ratings restrictions so I left it out in the version. The URL is on my account page)The next story, 'The Fledgling' will focus on the year that he spent with Treize away from Deerwood, and how and why he became a vampire.


End file.
